Kate and I left our respective houses around 6 am monday, and have stopped in Philadelphia, Baltimore, Arlington, Hamilton, Asheville, Waterville, Knoxville, Nashville and Memphis. It is 11:19 on Thursday night and I’ve already forgotten how big and how much and what all we have seen. Mountains I know we’ve seen; and smelled and wandered into and have fallen in love with. The Appalachians, the Smokey Mountains, and the Blue Ridge Mountains went on for hours and hours and there were other mountains that deserve names but because of the sheer number have gone nameless the way that certain bright stars outside well known constellations are often seen but rarely noted.
Four days in and I feel blocked up with writing and scared of forgetting. There are too many ways to travel this country. Too many must sees and all of them worth it. So many stories and faces and each one burning a new place in my memory. What happens when my memory fills up and fades? By the time that happens I hope we will have made it to the west coast. I imagine the constant ebb and flow of the Pacific will forgive our forgetting with its own example. Every day a home for castles and lovers and footprints and seashells; every tide a washing away and making space for new. A tribute to what was carried away in the sunset and an invitation for new stories in its rise.
This page begins to be a catch all of hopes and fears and wanderings and musings.